A Haunting Melody
by greatgooglymoogly88
Summary: The year is 1952. Clyde and Bebe Donovan are a young couple who recently started a guest house in the quaint English countryside. Things seem to be going well until a murder occurs close to the inn. With a snowstorm afoot, a murderer on the loose, and 8 people trapped inside, their is bound to be a little mystery. Based loosely off the Mouse Trap by Agatha Christie.


_Hello, everyone! My name is Ari. This will be a relatively small three-part project. See, I recently saw the Mouse Trap by Agatha Christie and I thought it was really good. Pretty suspenseful. The whole time, I kept thinking, 'I could totally write a South Park spinoff for this!' So, here this is. Of course, it's only loosely based off the play and this is an AU, but it's still a Mouse Trap-esque murder mystery. I hope you guys have just as much fun reading this as I had writing!_

_Like the play, this is set up in three parts; 4 in the afternoon, the next afternoon, and ten minutes later. The story is set in 1950's England in a small countryside guest house called the Donovan Inn. Featured here is Bebe Stevens, Clyde Donovan, Tweek Tweak, Thomas What-his-last-name-is, Wendy Testaburger, Stan Marsh, and Kenny McCormack. As this is an alternate universe, they are all different, the biggest being that they are British. Anyway, please enjoy, review, follow, and favorite! _

_~Ari_

* * *

_4 o' clock pm _

"…In more recent news, a sixty three year old man by the name of Gregory Banks was found dead in his home early this morning. It is assumed that the man was strangled to death in his bedroom the night before and the murderer, who has yet to be identified, is still on the loose. If you have any information at all regarding the identity or whereabouts of the criminal, please contact your local police immediately. He or she is said to be heading towards the east end of London, possibly to the countryside."

Bebe Donovan switched off the radio, too busy to concern herself with the news. There was simply too much to be done; she had yet to make up the west room bed, the floors needed to be swept, the curtains dusted, and dinner prepared. In only half an hour, the first of the guests were set to arrive and she wanted everything to look perfect.

As she busied herself with straightening up the parlor, Bebe heard the front door open, letting in the crisp January chill. Her husband, Clyde Donovan, came bustling in, wrapped tightly in a heavy wool coat, white gingham scarf, and hat. He shivered, removing a large rectangle of wood from under his arm. "The sign was finally delivered," he told his wife with a sense of satisfaction.

Bebe gave her husband a peck on the cheek, taking the sign so she could examine it. With a smile, she exclaimed, "Oh, Clyde, it's perfect! Our guests will love it." The sign was a beautiful robin's egg blue, with fancy black lettering that read 'The Donovan Inn.' It was perfect; a neat and lovely sign fitting for their brand new guest house. Bebe placed the sign near the front door, making a mental note to have Clyde put it up the next day. For now, however, they had to prepare for their grand opening.

"Would you mind stoking the fire, darling?" Bebe asked as she busied herself with her chores. "It's gotten quite chilly in here."

"Yes, dear." He added wood to their freshly painted fireplace, stoking the flames until they grew larger and warmer. He stood for a moment, warming his freezing fingers over the lapping flames.

Before much time had passed at all, the front door rang. Bebe scurried to the door, adjusting her new mint green dress as she went along. With a final pat to her wavy blonde hair, she opened the front door with a dazzling, customer-ready smile.

"Good afternoon, sir!" She greeted warmly to the young man who stood before her. "I take it you are our new guest? You're the first to arrive, so please feel free to make yourself at home."

The young man was a strange one, indeed. Despite his heavy green coat, Bebe could see how visibly thin the petite gentleman was. His light blonde hair stood wild about his head, as though it had never once seen a brush. It was peculiarly long, as well. But he had kind green eyes that were large and earnest. Bebe could tell that under the strange exterior was a kind man.

"Good a-afternoon, madam," the young man stuttered, stepping through the doorway. "I'm Tweek Tweak, yes? How d-do you do?" He held out a pale, shaking hand. Bebe wondered whether he was shaking from nerves or the cold. Something told her it was due to both. Nevertheless, she smiled pleasantly and took Mr. Tweak's hand in her own.

"Pleased to meet you," she said. "Clyde, come meet our first guest!" Her tall, brown haired husband walked up to the young man, dwarfing him further with his size.

"How do you do?" he greeted with a smile, shaking the shorter man's hand briskly. After a few more exchanged words, Mr. Tweak removed his outer coat, revealing a pale yellow sweater that matched his unruly hair, too large tan dress pants, and a wrinkly white shirt paired with a poorly tied tie.

The strangely dressed fellow took a seat on the parlor sofa, looking about the room carefully. "It's a lovely place you have here, madam," he called to Mrs. Donovan.

"Oh, thank you," she said, taking a seat next to him. "My husband and I only just finished decorating this room yesterday. I do hope you like it." She stood back up, brushing down her skirt once again. "Now, would you like me to get my husband to take your bags to your room? As the first one to arrive, you have first choice."

Tweek smiled up at her meekly. "Yes, madam." Standing up, he waited for Mrs. Donovan to lead the way upstairs. Bebe called to Clyde, who came back into the room. He picked up the small blonde's worn leather bag, leading the way upstairs. "Now, the biggest room is the one on the farthest end of the hallway…"

Bebe remained downstairs, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the guests. For before long, there was another ring at the door bell. She opened the door to reveal a petite yet strict-looking woman with long black hair wrapped tightly in a bun atop her head. Her mouth rested in a thin line, revealing her no-nonsense character. "Good afternoon," she greeted briskly, walking past Mrs. Donovan and into the parlor, inspecting the room. "I am Mrs. Testaburger." Unlike the previous guest, she looked less than pleased with the décor.

"Hmph," she grunted, walking about to inspect the wall hangings. "This room is uncomfortably cold. You should consider a new heating system." She turned to Mrs. Donovan, looking the blonde woman up and down. "You're young. Clearly you haven't any experience running a guest house." She sniffed at the young woman, returning to her inspection of the furniture of the quaint parlor room.

Bebe started, a little insulted by her guest's brutality. "Well, everything must start somewhere," she happily defended.

"Yes. Quite inexperienced." She turned her nose up, removing her purple overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack alongside Mr. Donovan and Mr. Tweak's outer garments. "Show me to my room," she commanded coldly.

"Yes, madam," she escorted the cold older woman upstairs, explaining the house's furnishings on the way up. It was perfectly clear this woman bitter about her living arrangements, but it Bebe knew it couldn't be helped. Unless the woman wanted to go back out into the chilling snow storm and journey in hopes of stumbling upon a better inn, she had no option but to stay put.

As she situated Mrs. Testaburger is her apparently unsatisfactory bedroom, the doorbell rang once again. This time Clyde was the one to answer. "Welcome!" he greeted to a tall, older gentleman with thick black hair and a pleasant disposition. "My name is Clyde Donovan, how do you do?"

The black-haired man took the brunette's hand and shook it. "Pleased to meet you." He introduced himself as Major Stanley Marsh, an officer in the royal navy. The two men discussed the house, Marsh seeming to be much happier than the previous guest to arrive.

The last guest arrived quickly after Major Marsh, being greeted at the door by Bebe. The young man introduced himself as Thomas. He was by far the youngest guest, no older than 20 and looking quite similar to Mr. Tweak, just more put together. He had similarly blonde hair, but trimmed short. He wore a well-fitting brown jacket and trousers, a blue shirt, and a black bowtie. He revealed himself to be a college student, visiting the English countryside as he was on holiday from his studies.

Pretty soon, all the guests of the Donovan Inn had their own rooms procured and were seated in the parlor, getting to know each other as they would all be housemates for the next week. "So, Mrs. Testaburger, what do you do for a living?" Major Marsh asked the petite woman pleasantly in between puffs of his pipe.

The woman peered at him sullenly, but answered, "I used to be a teacher, but I've long since retired." Marsh waited a moment for her to elaborate, but soon learned the lady was not one for conversation.

"Well, I, for one, am a student at Lakereach University," Thomas chimed in, met only with a tepid glance from Mrs. Testaburger. He shrugged, giving the woman an equally cold glance before turning to Mr. Tweak. "What about you, sir?"

The nervous blonde yelped, jumping up from his seat. "I-I uh, I apologize. I'm a bit jumpy since I heard about the murder this morning. Anyhow, I write for a living. Nothing much, as I usually write small commentaries in the London Post but it's a start, y-yes?"

"Ah, yes!" Marsh exclaimed. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about the Gregory Banks murder, would you?" The nervous man nodded. "Well, I heard the murderer might have been heading in this direction. Who knows, we might be having a visit from a killer quite soon!"

As if on cue, the doorbell rung, causing everyone to jump a little. Mrs. Donovan hurried to the door. "Now who could that be?" she asked herself. All the guests had arrived already.

She opened the door to reveal a peculiar man, dressed in a mismatched suit that hung off his small frame erratically. His sandy hair was styled in a pompadour. The man smiled apologetically. "Sorry to disturb you, miss," he said in a thick Italian accent. "I am Kenneth McCormack and I was wondering if you had any space available here.

"See, my car broke down a mile back and this is the only in for miles. It's been hell enough getting here through all this snow."

Mrs. Donovan glanced curiously at the man, but stepped out of the doorway nonetheless. "Please, do come in," she said pleasantly. "You must be freezing."

"Thank you, miss!" he exclaimed, and wrapped the woman in a surprising hug. Bebe flinched, not used to such familiarity from a perfect stranger.

"Well…" she hesitated, looking at her husband for an idea as to what to do with this man. "We do have an extra bedroom, though it is quite small…"

"I'll take it!" Kenneth said happily, hugging Bebe once again. "You are a kind woman, no?" He winked at her, causing Bebe to step back hurriedly.

There was something certainly off about this man. Regardless of her hunch, Bebe put on her practiced customer-ready smile and let Mr. McCormack up the stairs to the spare room at the end of the hallway. It was indeed a small room, but it would have to do for now.

As the mistress of the house preoccupied herself with settling in the unexpected guest, the other guests continued their discussion of the Banks murder.

"It's all very horrid," commented Mr. Tweak, who stood warming his shivering hands by the fire.

"Indeed," Thomas nodded, opening up a newspaper he had previously stashed away in his briefcase. "It says here that the nest door neighbor heard the murderer whistling 'Sing a Song of Sixpence.' That's quite a haunting melody. I wonder if it plays into the murder."

"Perhaps so," agreed Marsh, taking a pull from his pipe. "How did that go again?"

Clyde paused, recalling the common tune. " 'Sing a song of six pence, a pocket full of rye,'

'Four and twenty black birds baked into a pie.'"

"You don't suppose he was poisoned, do you?" Tweek asked nervously. "Maybe the murderer used the song as a means to kill, like a pattern?"

"Complete rubbish!" spat Mrs. Testaburger, glancing at the nervous young man before her. "Honestly, the lot of you! Creating plots in your head, as if a murderer would use a nursery rhyme for murder! Rubbish!"

"Don't be so quick to call it off as rubbish," Thomas said, standing up. "Crazier things have happened in the world, wouldn't you agree?" He walked over to the window behind the couch, looking out into the chilling blizzard. "Thank heavens we're in here, though. If the murder did think to come in this direction, he'd never make it to this house with all the snow. We're safe and warm here."

Suddenly, they all heard a maniacal chuckle come from the stairway. In walked the peculiar Mr. McCormack, smiling devilishly. "How do you know we're safe here?" he asked. "For all we know, the murderer is one of us!"

A quiet ran through the room, more chilling than the winter storm blowing outside. Suddenly nobody felt safe.


End file.
